"Another of Grayson's distracting pranks."
Her boss was an older man, but he was healthy and at times almost boyish-looking. He was reserved, a man of few words. And he was friendly, or at least genial, but he had little facility for humour and even less time for it.
He was a businessman, long in the game.
And so Zadie worried sometimes about her boss’ colleagues and their pranksterish proclivities. They were older men too, but they seemed to be of a different generation. They were jocular, and rude. It was how they got along.
Still, they seemed to understand that Frank was a man of a different order. They seemed to accept that he would not joke with them, that he would rarely even speak with them about something outside of the purview of their business. That it was not appropriate to affront him with vulgar speech.
They all understood, with one exception.
Grayson.
It was this man who Zadie thought of when signing for the strangely light, faintly buzzing package. The deliveryman looked so much like him – remarkably similar, save for the large mustache. And he had the same smirking quality, the same glinting eyes she’d seen on those many occasions when Grayson would trick or humiliate her boss – slapping him on his behind, squirting him with a water gun, air-humping him in the elevator. Instances of amusement that made Zadie cringe and roll her eyes.
Her boss called her only moments after she’d brought him the package.
“Zadie,” he said, “would you kindly call an ambulance for me?”
“Is something wrong, Mr. Rifkin?” she asked.
“I am being attacked by a swarm of bees,” he said calmly, “and I am highly allergic.”
“Oh my god!” Zadie shouted.
“Will you call the ambulance please?”
She could hear a loud buzzing in the background.
“Y-yes! Of course!”
“Thank you.”